


It's Not Your Fault

by OctoberSkies



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Budding Love, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Death, Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 23:43:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4412543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberSkies/pseuds/OctoberSkies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After sparring with Dorian, Varlen Lavellan is delivered devastating news by their ambassador regarding his clan. Shattered and trapped in a spiral of self-loathing, he feels himself - the <i>great Inquisitor</i> - beginning to unravel. The last thing he expects is for a certain Tevinter mage to dust him off and drag him back to his feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Your Fault

**Author's Note:**

> I was somewhat disappointed at how the destruction of a Lavellan's clan was barely even acknowledged in the game, by both the Inquisitor and their companions, outside of the war room. So I decided to write my own scene exploring how my Inquisitor would have reacted to the news.

                 Varlen gritted his teeth as another missile flew past his head, the arcane energy dissipating with a roaring crackle as it struck the stone wall behind him. Sweating hard, he retaliated, whirling towards the mage, his blades flashing brilliantly in the midday sun. They were like beams of light, wielded in hand by the Dalish elf, and they met ferociously with his opponent's bladed staff. The ring of metal on metal was both striking and primal. It resonated within him, urging him onwards as he disengaged and immediately launched into a counter attack. Twisting his body, he slid past the mage's defensive stance, working his way between him and his staff, and using the action to send it flying from his grasp. The wood scattered along the ground, and suddenly Varlen's blade was at his opponent's throat. The mage was startled, his grey-blue eyes widening for a moment, before a lazy smile slowly crept onto his lips. He raised his hands in nonchalant surrender, his teeth flashing against his burnished skin.

                 "You have improved, oh great Inquisitor." Dorian drawled in his usual way, his tone always tip-toeing between mocking and sincere. Varlen smiled back; an almost bestial expression as he savoured his victory, crinkling his nose in a semi-snarl, adrenaline pumping through his veins. After a moment the Tevinter swallowed, his eyes flicking down pointedly.

                "Feel free to remove that blade at any time, you know. I am quite fond of my neck and would loathe to see it damaged by an errant gesture."

                Varlen blinked rapidly, exhaling as he stepped away from Dorian, letting his blade sink back down to his side. He had gotten carried away. Again. He could tell from the other man's wary gaze, despite how he tried to hide it behind an aloof mask. Angry with himself, the Inquisitor ran his hands over his face, relishing the dark comfort his palms provided.

                "I apologise, Dorian. I didn't--"

                "-- _Come_ _now_ , no harm done!" The mage laughed flippantly, placing a hand on Varlen's shoulder as the elf uncovered his face, his expression slack with dumbfounded surprise. "All's fair in a fight, yes? Even a mock one. At least I now know that if you had the pleasure of facing an enemy mage as talented as _myself_ , you would likely survive the encounter. Ah, _yes._  With that knowledge, I shall sleep well tonight."

                Varlen felt a laugh bubble from his chest, and he softened as he looked at the man. He was always so kind to him, despite their _problematic_ backgrounds.  A Tevinter mage and a Dalish rogue, sparring in the middle of the day together. Working towards a common goal. It seemed so ridiculous.

                "Now, _Varlen_..."

                The elf returned to the present to see Dorian watching him closely, in a way that was unlike any previous interaction, his hand raised thoughtfully to his chin. They were both sweaty and panting, both from the sun's heat and their physical exertion, and _by Mythal_ if the mage did not look dazzling despite it. The sweat on his brow glistened as though it was _meant_ to be there. Varlen, realising he had been silent for far too long again, cleared his throat quickly.

                "Uh, yes, Dorian? What is it?" He frowned slightly, but not in an attempt to deter the other man from speaking. He was simply perplexed by the mage. For his part, Dorian also seemed a touch out of his depth, which was a miraculous sight to behold. He shifted almost awkwardly, his eyes quickly glancing around before returning to rest on the Inquisitor.

                "Well, I was _curious_ if you might--"

                **"-- Inquisitor!"**

                Dorian was cut off by the sound of a keep door being thrown open behind Varlen, and Josephine's voice piercing the midday air. Normally Varlen would have been frustrated by the interruption, but there was something about the look in her eyes as he turned to face her that sent a chill over his skin.

                "Josephine? What is it?" The words leapt from his throat before he even realised, and he and Dorian moved quickly to meet her. She stopped before him, her breaths short, but still holding herself with perfect posture. It was clear that whatever the news was, it had spurred her to make great haste in finding him personally. Her hair had sprung free from its perfect bun ever so slightly, but for their ambassador that was the equivalent of not showering for a month.

                "I..." She hesitated, her eyes flicking over to Dorian. "... Perhaps we should speak, Inquisitor. In private."

                Out of the corner of his eye, Varlen saw Dorian's expression darken ever so slightly. Lady Josephine did not trust him; she never had. But Varlen did, and he shook his head in response. Clearly he had to be the one to force cooperation around here. So be it.

                "That will not be necessary. I trust both you and Dorian equally - whatever you have to say, you can say here. Speak freely."

                Again, hesitation, and her glossy lips remained slightly parted as her gaze flicked between the pair. Finally, she exhaled, sensing that she would not get her way, and her expression softened into one of... wait... _pity?_ Varlen wasn't certain, but there was definitely a sorrow woven into her words that set off an uneasy feeling in his gut.

                "As you wish, Inquisitor." She began slowly, swallowing before forcing herself to continue. "We... We received word regarding Clan Lavellan. If you recall, they contacted us about bandits in their area that were harassing them."

                Varlen folded his arms, nodding sharply. "Yes, I remember. You said you wrote to the Duke of Wycome requesting aid."

                "Yes, and I _did_." Josephine was not herself; not the calm speaking, eloquent diplomat he was used to. There was a fragility to her now, but not inwardly directed. She was projecting it towards him, as though attempting to wrap him in the embrace of gentle words. The sickness in his stomach only intensified at the realisation. At his side, his hands began to tremble.

                "Josephine. _What happened?_ " The words felt distant and empty, as though spoken by someone far away. He watched the ambassador's expression melt further, and his heart hammered painfully in his chest as she continued with those soft, tentative words.      

                "The... The Duke's men were unable to arrive in time. When his men reached them, your clan was..." She flinched slightly as she glanced up from her parchment and saw the expression on Varlen's face, which was a frightening mixture of disbelief and swelling grief. He knew what she was about to say. He _knew_...

                "They were... He said they were either scattered or dead... All of them. I... I am _so sorry_ , Inquisitor." She could find no kinder way of wording it, and each one stabbed Varlen like a hot blade. "We have sent our own people to investigate further -- I _promise_ you we will find out who committed this horrendous act--"

                "-- _Please_ , Lady Josephine... Not now." Dorian's voice seemed so far away, despite his presence directly beside him. He could hear pain in it too, but it was _nothing_ compared to the tempest of agony that was writhing inside Varlen's own chest. A part of him rejected it entirely - _they couldn't be dead_. It wasn't possible. His Keeper... his family... his brothers and sisters of the clan... All  just... _gone_. Just like that. He thought he was going to be sick.

                "I see. Did... Did the Duke find anything? At all? A letter... _Anything?_ " He had to keep calm. To hold back the stinging sensation that was building in his eyes and throat. They couldn't just be gone. It wasn't... Wasn't possible. Keeper Istimaethoriel was resourceful - always knew what was best for the clan. She must have left him some clue. _Something..._

                "I... I am afraid nothing was recovered. The Duke has offered his support to the Inquisition, as well as..." she trailed off suddenly, as though sensing she had entered dangerous territory. Varlen's eyes were wide and desperate as they raised to meet hers, and the expression seemed to tear her in two.

                "What? As well as _what_?" _Maybe there really was something!_ "However small, Josephine, if my Clan left anything, _please_ , tell me!"

                "I... No, not your Clan, Inquisitor. The Duke left a sum of gold. For your loss." Her eyes were closed; she couldn't watch his reaction. If she had, she likely would have descended into tears, witnessing the moment Varlen's heart truly broke. The Inquisitor felt his breath hitch as his pulse slowed from the hopeful thrum it had momentarily possessed. Now, it was painful. Heavy. He swallowed, his eyes still resting on Josephine - the kind woman who could not even look at him. After a moment, his gaze drifted across to Dorian, who he could only assume was treating him with the same grieving aversion.

                His pale eyes met the mage's, and they were soft yet _there_ , watching him with the kind of pain that could only be considered simultaneously empathetic and visceral. It frightened Varlen, and _he_ was the one to frantically break contact, his focus now resting on the ground at his feet. His bare feet. He felt the earth beneath his toes. It brought him no comfort.

                Slowly, he spoke, and words were devoid of anything when he finally voiced them. His detached tone seemed to surprise both his companions.

                "I see. Gold. Of course. Excuse me."

                Varlen turned and left quickly, crossing the courtyard and ascending the stairs to the battlements as hastily as possible, leaving Dorian and Josephine behind to watch with concerned expressions etched upon their faces. He had to get away. He needed to _think_. _This wasn't real_. He was the _Inquisitor_. He could seal the sky with a gesture; manipulate the Fade! How could... _How could...._

                How could he have let them die? How was he, one of the most powerful people in all of Thedas, unable to protect his own clan? He should have gone himself. _If he had just been there_...

                He did not make it far once he reached the battlements. With a rush, all of his strength seemed to flow from his body, and he collapsed to his knees beside the low wall, crumpling like a puppet with severed strings. For a moment, he simply remained there, curled in on himself in the shade, unable to accept what he had been told. He stared helplessly down at his hands, balled into weak fists upon his thighs.

                Perhaps it was all just a joke? One of Sera's tasteless pranks. She hated the Dalish after all...

                ... He clenched his eyes shut, hunching further forward and pressing the heel of his palms to his lids. _No_. _She was not that cruel, nor would Josephine ever agree to it._ This was real. There was no other explanation. He had lost them. Lost them _all_. While he was off playing _saviour_ he had failed to save those he cared for the most. He had failed the ones he had been representing to all of Thedas; the people he began all this fighting _for_.

                A traitorous sob wrenched itself unbidden from his throat, and he bit down on his fist to stifle it, now acutely aware of the taste of salt as hot tears rolled down his cheeks. Agonisingly, he tried to hide them behind his free hand, his body wracked by anguished spasms. He bit hard, relishing the pain. He deserved it. He deserved _far worse_.

                _Stop. STOP. Enough! They are gone! This will not bring them back._ He had to stop... He had to... He...

                "... Varlen?" Dorian's voice was hesitant as he ascended the stairs, but the elf did not turn to acknowledge him, or the softness of his steps. He couldn't. He heard the Tevinter's tone shift as he undoubtedly saw what had become of his _oh so_ _great_ _Inquisitor_.

                "Ah..." The word seemed to exhale with Dorian's breath, drawn out and ethereal in the cool air.

                After a moment that seemed to stretch on to eternity, Varlen suddenly felt strong arms wrap around him as Dorian joined him on the floor of the battlements, the sound of something wooden clattering against the stone ringing as it was cast aside. Dorian pulled him in close, completely unconcerned by the tears that were now embedding themselves into his pristine clothing, or the way Varlen clutched his arms in a way that could only be painful. He clenched his fists into the fabric, afraid to let go, feeling the other man's hands soothingly rubbing his back. The elf breathed in, the earthy yet spiced scent of the Tevinter providing him with little comfort as he sobbed harshly against him, any hope he'd had of pulling himself together now abandoned by that small act of kindness from the mage. He almost felt angry - _he_ _could have kept it together, if it weren't for..._

But despite everything,Varlen did not want to leave his embrace; did not want to face the reality of the situation. Not yet. And while realistically he knew he would have to, for a moment - just for a _moment_ \- he was free to hide. To lose himself. To be the one who was held together, rather than the one trying to hold together a breaking world. Dorian murmured quietly to him in Tevene. He had no idea what he was saying, but it was soothing; comforting. He relished the rolling melody of the words as they drifted from his lips. As his sobs slowly subsided, they simply sat, entwined, breathing shakily in subconscious unison, one in unremitting grief, the other in painful empathy.

                "I... If there is _anything_ I can do..." The words were unnatural for the mage, who had spent so much time hiding his feelings from _himself_ that he struggled to even offer them to another. But he tried, and that was more than Varlen had ever expected.  More than he deserved. The elf breathed in shakily, drawing together the fraying threads of his being and tucking them away somewhere inside himself. He could not fall apart. There was too much at stake; too much still to do. He would not lose any more people.

                He forced himself away from Dorian, falling back against the low wall, his head resting against the cool stone exhaustedly. He could already feel the tears beginning to dry on his skin; they traced the lines of his vallasin as though walking a solemn path of remembrance. He sniffed once, rubbing his face to remove the final traces of his grief. His eyes were still red, but there was little he could do about that. Those almost luminous orbs, a brighter blue than ever, eventually trailed over to Dorian, who remained crouched and silent, simply waiting with a patience Varlen did not know the man possessed. Their gaze met, and an unspoken understanding seemed to flow between them. Varlen was the Inquisitor. He had no time for grief or pity, yet he offered it freely to those around him, a creature of empathy. Dorian was a Tevinter mage. He had equally little desire for either, and although he was struggling to express himself, he was there, perfect and whole. In that moment, they could both appreciate the other's needs. It was Dorian who finally broke the silence, and it was not with the crushing pity Varlen feared.

                "You know, there is no simple solution for pain. No quick fix- no salve you can rub on and sleep off. Believe me - I know." He shifted position with a soft grunt, rising to his feet, the sun catching his hair like the glossy feathers of Leliana's ravens. A soft smile touched his lips, and he offered his hand to the shattered elf. "But I have the most _deplorable_ bottle of Aqua Magus that I've been saving..."

                Despite himself, Varlen laughed, still shielding his face with his hand. It shook his entire body, mingling with the pain that he now wore like a second skin, but just a touch of the weight lifted at the mage's words.

                "Saving? For what?"

                "Why, to drink myself into a stupor should the world as we know it meet a grizzly end, of course." Dorian admitted with a shrug, that moustache lifting slightly as he gave Varlen a lopsided smile. "But for _you_ , I shall break it out early. _And_ in moderation."

                Varlen stared at the offered hand for a moment, but relented without further encouragement, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the firmness of Dorian's grip as was drawn to his feet. The mage pulled him close for a moment, and without thought placed his arm around Varlen's shoulders, guiding him warmly towards the Keep. Varlen glanced back briefly.

                "Dorian, your staff..."

                "Of little consequence. I am sure Cole will collect it later." His voice rumbled lightly in his chest, and once again Varlen felt a weak smile tug at his lips. "Besides, by the time we're done with the Aqua Magus, I have no intention of being able to _walk_ yet alone carry a staff."

                "This won't change anything..." A sense of doubt began to creep up on Varlen, and he felt Dorian's confident step waver ever so slightly. Then, the arm around him tightened, strong and shielding.

                "No, it won't." He admitted simply. "But for once, my dear Inquisitor, do what _you_ need to do. Even if it is not what I suggest, however _strongly_ I may recommend the activity. Let _us_ take care of _you_ , just this once." He sighed gently, his hand rubbing Varlen's shoulder in an absent yet comforting gesture.

                "I have a touch of experience in this area, you know. Of losing the ones you love dearly. And allow me to pass on some of the wisdom it took me far too long to discover on my own." He turned Varlen to look at him face-on, his gaze now determined. Imploring. "It is _not_ your fault. Do you understand?"

                The sheer desperation in Dorian's words shook Varlen, and for a moment he could only stare blankly at the man, who was gazing so deeply into his eyes he feared he could see his very soul. He swallowed, dropping his gaze.

                "I unders--"

                " _Look at me_ , Varlen."

                Varlen felt a hand beneath his chin, tilting it up gently; encouragingly. He was faced once again with those determined kohl-lined eyes, and this time, he met their intensity with his own.

                "I... Understand."

                "Excellent." He released Varlen's chin slowly, once again draping his arm around the smaller man with a nonchalant suaveness only the Tevinter could pull off. They continued towards what he could only assume was Dorian's quarters, lying in a building near the library. As they walked, Varlen swallowed, subconsciously leaning into the other man's embrace.

                "Do you... have any other...?" He trailed off, and Dorian glanced across inquisitively at him.

                "Hm? Other _what's_? Earth-shattering words of advice, perhaps?"

                Varlen nodded, thankful that the man was able to decipher him, even now. RIght now, he just wanted the Tevinter to keep talking. His voice made it easier. A low chuckle resonated in the mage's throat as the pair reached a modest wooden door.

                "Why, naturally - I am a walking _tome_ of wisdom. But if we are going to start sharing _that sort_ of heartfelt acumen, we will be needing that Aqua Magus. _Lots_ of it."

                As the man opened his door, Varlen let out a shattering sigh that ended in a hesitant laugh, as though it was unsure if it was allowed to be there; guilty. However, as the mage removed his embracing arm and stepped into the room, Varlen found himself following, his body moving of its own accord. Dorian gave him an encouraging nod as he passed by, and the elf watched as the man gently closed the door behind them.

                "So, to light-hearted talk of pain and sorrow, then?" Dorian offered, clasping his hands, and despite himself, Varlen smiled slowly as he lowered himself onto one of the cushioned chairs that adorned the room. He sighed softly as he reclined, and when he spoke, the words were slightly lighter than earlier.

                "Sure. But go get that... _aqua-whatever_ first."

                Dorian's approving, and daresay _relieved,_ smile flashed brilliantly as he headed to a locked cabinet at the back of the room. He laughed softly as he opened it with a sharp flash of magic.

                 " _Aqua Magus_. And as you wish, _amatus_."

                The word was one Varlen had not heard before, but he would not remember to ask him the following morning what it meant, nor would Dorian even remember he let it slip.


End file.
